The Once and Future King
Chapter X
In Bedegraine it was the night before the battle. A number of bishops were blessing the armies on both sides, hearing confessions and saying Mass. Arthur’s men were reverent about this, but King Lot’s men were not – for such was the custom in all armies that were going to be defeated. The bishops assured both sides that they were certain to win, because God was with them, but King Arthur’s men knew that they were outnumbered by three to one, so they thought it was best to get shriven. King Lot’s men, who also knew the odds, spent the night dancing, drinking, dicing and telling each other dirty stories. This is what the chronicles say, at any rate.
In the King of England’s tent, the last staff talk had been held, and Merlyn had stayed behind to have a chat. He was looking worried.
‘What are you worried about, Merlyn? Are we going to lose this battle, after all?’
‘No. You will win the battle all right. There is no harm in telling you so. You will do your best, and fight hard, and call in You-know-whom at the right moment. It will be in your nature to win the battle, so it doesn’t matter telling you. No. It is something else which I ought to have told you that is worrying me just now.’
‘What was it about?’
‘Gracious heavens! Why should I be worrying if I could remember what it was about?’
‘Was it about the maiden called Nimue?’
‘No. No. No. No. That’s quite a different business. It was something – it was something I can’t remember.’
After a bit, Merlyn took his beard out of his mouth and began counting on his fingers.
‘I have told you about Guenever, haven’t I?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘No matter. And I have warned you about her and Lancelot.’
‘That warning,’ said the King, ‘would be a base one anyway, whether it was true or false.’
‘Then I have said the bit about Excalibur, and how you must be careful of the sheath?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have told you about your father, so it can’t be him, and I have given the hint about the person.
‘What is confounding me,’ exclaimed the magician, pulling out his hair in tufts, ‘is that I can’t remember whether it is in the future or in the past.’
‘Never mind about it,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t like knowing the future anyway. I had much rather you didn’t worry about it, because it only worries me.’
‘But it is something I must say. It is vital.’
‘Stop thinking about it,’ suggested the King. ‘and then perhaps it will come back. You ought to take a holiday. You have been bothering your head too much lately, what with all these warnings and arranging about the battle.’
‘I will take a holiday,’ exclaimed Merlyn. ‘As soon as the battle is over, I will go on a walking tour into North Humberland. I have a Master called Bleise who lives in North Humberland, and perhaps he will be able to tell me what it is I am trying to remember. Then we could have some wild fowl watching. He is a great man for wild fowl.’
‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘You take a long holiday. Then, when you come back, we can think of something to prevent Nimue.’
The old man stopped fiddling with his fingers, and looked sharply at the King.
‘You are an innocent fellow, Arthur,’ he said. ‘And a good thing too, really.’
‘Why?’
‘Do you remember anything about the magic you had when you were small?’
‘No. Did I have some magic? I can remember that I was interested in birds and beasts. Indeed, that is why I still keep my menagerie at the Tower. But I don’t remember about magic.’
‘People don’t remember,’ said Merlyn. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t remember about the parables I used to tell you, when I was trying to explain things?’
‘Of course I do. There was one about some Rabbi or other which you told me when I wanted to take Kay somewhere. I never could understand why the cow died.’
‘Well, I want to tell you another parable now.’
‘I shall love it.’
‘In the East, perhaps in the same place which that Rabbi Jachanan came from, there was a certain man who was walking in the market of Damascus when he came face to face with Death. He noticed an expression of surprise on the spectre’s horrid countenance, but they passed one another without speaking. The fellow was frightened, and went to a wise man to ask what should be done. The wise man told him that Death had probably come to Damascus to fetch him away next morning. The poor man was terrified at this, and asked however he could escape. The only way they could think of between them was that the victim should ride all night to Aleppo, thus eluding the skull and bloody bones.
‘So this man did ride to Aleppo – it was a terrible ride which had never been done in one night before – and when he was there he walked in the market-place, congratulating himself on having eluded Death.
‘Just then, Death came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I have come for you.” “Why,” exclaimed the terrified man, “I thought I met you in Damascus yesterday!” “Exactly,” said Death. “That was why I looked surprised – for I had been told to meet you today, in Aleppo.”’
Arthur reflected on this gruesome chestnut for some time, then he said:
‘So it is no good trying to escape Nimue?’
‘Even if I wanted to,’ said Merlyn, ‘it would be no good. There is a thing about Time and Space which the philosopher Einstein is going to find out. Some people call it Destiny.’
‘But what I can’t get over is this toad-in-the-hole business.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Merlyn, ‘people will do a lot for love. And then the toad is not necessarily unhappy in its hole, not more than when you are asleep, for instance. I shall do some considering, until they let me out again.’
‘So they will let you out?’
‘I will tell you something else, King, which may be a surprise for you. It will not happen for hundreds of years, but both of us are to come back. Do you know what is going to be written on your tombstone? Hic jacet Arthurus Rex quondam Rexque futurus. Do you remember your Latin? It means, the once and future king.’
‘I am to come back as well as you?’
‘Some say from the vale of Avilion.’
The King thought about it in silence. It was full night outside, and there was stillness in the bright pavilion. The sentries, moving on the grass, could not be heard.
‘I wonder,’ he said at last, ‘whether they will remember about our Table?’
Merlyn did not answer. His head was bowed on the white beard and his hands clasped between his knees.
‘What sort of people will they be, Merlyn?’ cried the young man’s voice, unhappily.